Robbie and I did not get to spend Christmas together, which was, all in all, a royal bummer. I have thought for a long time that it just would not be right to spend Christmas away from my family. And this year–which was the best family Christmas in a long time–I felt as though there was no need for me to be with them at all. I probably feel this way because I’ve moved back to my home town, and so get to see my parents far more often than I do Robbie, while for the past three Christmases, I’ve seen much more of him during the year than I have of those genetically closest to me. In any case, whatever we do in future, we are spending this New Year’s together. I’m at his place now, and he has been eager to get me up here so he can experiment on me.

Robbie has spent much of the last six months building all sorts of totally perverted devices, and investing in all kinds of contraptions and kits for edge play. This is almost entirely my fault. Sometime last summer I pointed out to him that we had gotten into a rut, sexually speaking. With a flippancy and a tendency toward hyperbole that I think of as part of my sense of humor and Robbie thinks of as fucking annoying, I told him that our pattern had two steps: “You beat me and then I blow you.”

This wounded Robbie, as he actually is a creative and sensitive lover who wants me to enjoy myself while he hurts me–I think. And as much as he likes the fact that I can, on occasion, orgasm from a beating or from providing oral sex, I think he got the message that those weren’t everyday occurrences, and a little more direct stimulation might be needed.

a CD-player for his bedroom, with scene music, to block out the noise of beating and moaning from the people who share his house

various clips, clamps, and other pieces of shiny metal he can attach to my pink bits–in one case, a pair of cleverly adapted clip-on earrings

a Hitachi wand, with Gonzo attachment. I keep forgetting this on the list, because it both scares the shit out of me and intrigues me.

There are so many things that I’m certain I’ve left some off the list; I’ll have him check this twice before I hit publish. And there are so many, now, that it’s hard to find time to play with them all. The beating-and-blowjob pattern–to the extent it was there–was there for a reason; it was fast and didn’t take a lot of time, planning, prep, or cleanup. We’ve always had the toys–finding the ways and will to use them is harder. As he said last night, “You pretty much have to have a real relationship with someone just to find time for it all!” He was only half-joking.

* * *

There’s one more thing on the list, but it’s not anything new, borrowed, or Gonzo-blue. It’s something very, very old, something we’ve talked about for a long time, one of my very darkest fantasies. He’s started to mention it in every email to me, and I have hopes it might happen sooner-rather-than later. And tomorrow, I’ll tell you what it is.

1. We finally really used the njoy fun wand over the holidays . . . and it was electrically good (okay, for him, as a massage tool.) At least it’s more stylish, and more effective, than those plastic back massagers.

2. Soy candles are all they are cracked up to be, and more. Thank you to my best friend, who is not yet kinky but who swore up down and sideways that they were the sexiest party favor she had ever encountered. Or as he said, “I expect one of those in my Christmas stocking every year.”

3. There were floggers galore at the play party and I got worked over by several of them, thanks to some wonderful people and to my lover’s patience and generosity. And so leather falls and the like are now on our list of way-too-expensive, needed-it-yesterday items, along with suspension cuffs, corsets, and . . . oh, we had a bigger list, in a file on his computer. It’s a good thing we keep forgetting to update it because we have no money.

4. I still don’t have a mini-keychain-flashlight-vibe, and I still have no idea why not. Two-second political screed: if the abstinence-only folks were really concerned about young women, they’d hand these babies out like candy.

The Sexmassex toygift lists are out now. Reading them, you’d think the sexy people of the world have nothing more pressing than the need for a $130 vibrator.

This year, I’m (mostly) being restrained, and buying him things besides the handcuffs and njoy wand we invested in last year. For one thing, we’re pacing ourselves. For another, there are plenty of vanilla things we want and need.

Most of all, though, I’m realizing that when it comes right down to it, we get the most enjoyment out of our bodies and our minds. Aside from our amazing collar and cuffs, a few sets of clips, and his gorgeous riding crop, most of the things we enjoy are either cheap pervertibles (clothespins, leashes, things-what-he-uses to whack my ass) or are attached to us 24-7.

Exhibit A: we own four “real” vibrators between the two of us, and none of them does a darn thing for me. (Okay, one of them does. But only when he takes the time to really work at it, and me.) Leaving out the rabbit vibe that he can make sing when he wants to . . . that’s $110 vibrating dollars, so far next-to-useless on me, and not for want of giving it a good college try.

I’m not sure why none of it appeals. It’s partly, I think, that we’re too lazy to get the toys out (because we’re both so compulsive about storing and cleaning them.) And partly because, with toys, they really have to work, and you never know what will do the job.

Take those four vibes. Not a one of them is a patch on the $20 Brookstone “face massager” I got almost ten years ago as a birthday present. I’d love to “upgrade” it to something that looks a little less industrial. But the wondrous thing about this little massager (besides the fat, satisfying curve of the version I have) is the pitch of the vibrations . . . they are slow, low, deep frequency, a seductive hum. Virtually every other vibrator I’ve known shocks my clit into total sensory overload, an upleasant numbing-out, within seconds.

Why is it so hard to find something similar, except cute? I don’t get it. They’ve started to advertise sex toys so much more clearly. They’ll tell me all about the materials, the color, the size, the specs, the designer . . . why can’t they just tell me what the damn thing feels like?! Is that really so hard?

And while I’m on my rant here (I mean, ’tis the season to rant–I hate the holidays), no one talks about this in reviews, either. I know. I’ve been reading reviews for months, searching for something that says “really low thrum vibe.” Can’t find it. So if anyone knows anything out there with about the vibratory intensity of a washing machine–except a little bit smaller–let me know. I’ll tell Santa.

Edit: I see that the ever-innovative Babeland gives vibes “intensity ratings.” Ohhhhhhhhh-kay. I’d use their rating if I hadn’t read what they had to say about how to get the most out of your power-vibe: “If you have a strong vibe, like the Hitachi Magic Wand, you can put a cloth, blanket or hand in between your clit and the vibe to diffuse the stimulation.”